


Hard Time Forgiving

by oppressa



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Coming Untouched, Conflict Resolution, F/M, Femdom, Light Bondage, Snark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2016-04-10
Packaged: 2018-06-01 09:53:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6513439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oppressa/pseuds/oppressa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anne knows how to win an argument with Jack.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hard Time Forgiving

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [magentastorm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/magentastorm/pseuds/magentastorm) in the [pirate_prompts_2016](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/pirate_prompts_2016) collection. 



> For magentastorm's prompt, "Jack tied up, the girl/s domming the hell out of him - edging him, making him get them off first, making him beg and fingering him until he comes untouched." I hope you like it!

He's waiting for her, by the light of the ship's lantern, casting strange shadows on his face, throwing up where he's aged since she's known him. He is outwardly relaxed, but his eyes are tracking her, and he has that expectant air which makes her pass him by without a second glance, forces him to follow her to their cabin before she tells him anything.

“Well then?” He starts, closing the door cautiously behind him.

She throws her weaponry on their bed, having already washed it clean in the sea. “It's done. Do you think I'd be back if it wasn't?”

“Yes but the tale could stand some elaboration, darling. You buried them as well, I take it? Somewhere they won't be found?”

She closes her eyes. For fuck's sake, he's like a dog with a bone sometimes.

“Have you ever noticed how I don't question _you_ , when you tell me it's so _important_ some people need to be got rid of.”

“You're not thirteen any more, Anne. You know you don't have to do a thing I ask of you.” 

Anne rounds on him. “Don't talk shit. Where would that leave you? Just as dead as those men out there, I reckon.”

She steps closer, and he grabs the edge of the table at his back like he's scared of her, although that, too, is a pretence. His eyes are hard; she won't get a thank you, no matter how far she pushes – Jack fancies that without him the crew's fortunes would suffer, so it's in everybody's interests he lives. And maybe that's true, but that doesn't mean that's her personal reason for eliminating any threat to him.

“So don't talk shit.” She says more softly. _It hurts_ , she thinks, and he seems to see that. “'Least not to me.”

Stiffly, he nods, then turns his head away.

“Jack.” She puts her thumb on his mouth, waits patiently for him to kiss it, which he does, eventually, unable to resist such a gesture from her no matter how much he hates to lose an argument. She feels, rather than hears him sigh. 

“All right.”

“Now.” She whispers to him, “That sorted, I remember you sayin' somethin' before I left... somethin' like, you'd be all mine after I'd done what you wanted.”

He looks at her questioningly, with a double-edged smile. “Did I say that?”

“Yeah.” She growls, violently grinds her hips into his, knocking him off-balance so only her body holds him up, making it unavoidably obvious what she wants even if he's going to play games. “Wouldn't be the first time you weren't planning on keeping your word, though.” 

He gasps at her relentlessness, the smile wiped off his face, playfulness retreating with a hint of outrage. “I was, of course I was. In fact, when have I ever been anything but entirely upfront with you--”

She silences him with a biting kiss. “Actions, Jack.” She says, petting his jet black hair. “Not words.”

She steers him to the foot of the bed, to sit on the floor, and pulls his arms up, purposefully taking off her belt. He leans back like he's not surprised, letting her wind it tightly around both his wrists, and then over the post, tugging until she's satisfied he'll be unable to get his hands out. She strokes her finger under his chin before getting up, leaving him there on his knees, to get used to the feel of it. He shifts and strains pointlessly against the leather as Anne sets the chair against the door. Then she picks up an open rum bottle from the table and drinks straight from it, watching him get impatient.

“Oh no, darling, don't mind me. I'll just be here, whenever you're ready.”

“Yes. You will.”

She starts to unlace her britches, and he shuts up. 

Anne goes to stand over him, pleased she doesn't need to tell him to come up as far as he can, so his head is at the right height, turned almost reverently towards the already damp red tendrils of hair on her sex. She gives him a nudge with her knee, and feels him breathe it in.

“God, have I ever mentioned how I love your --”

“Why don't you show me, 'stead of talking all night long.” She cuts him off, gripping his neck and bringing him to it.

He obliges her, though he must have hated that. Jack eats her out like he's trying to find her centre, and Anne senses herself relaxing, around everything stimulating her – his nose, his moustache, his lips, his _tongue._

“This is what you're _really_ good for, isn't it?” He makes a muffled sound, that could either be agreement or disagreement. “I think it is.”

She begins to move with, or perhaps counter to, his efforts, but she doesn't care which it is, rocking forcefully, and he has no choice except to see it through, to ride it out as she fucks his face. She feels the heat flare in her stomach as well as below, when her pleasure comes to a head, at how incapacitated he is.

She steps back off him on unsteady legs, knowing she isn't prepared to let him go yet. His eyes are widened, and would appear to be supplicating something of her, probably something to do with the uncomfortable bulge in his trousers. Much as she'd like to take a punishing hold of his crotch, make the sticky issue seep through the cloth, murmur to him about how its going to stain, she keeps her hands off him for now. 

“Somethin' you want?”

He nods briskly, still not prepared to say it.

“What's that?”

Jack tosses his head, does that disbelieving intake of breath. “Jesus Christ. I'd like to come, if it isn't too much trouble.”

“Turn around.” She says, glad she left enough slack in the belt for that.

He does, reluctantly. She inches his trousers down his waist, skirting her fingers as close to the base of his cock as possible without touching it, runs her hands up and down his bony thighs. As her thumbs are roughly parting his pale, perfect arse, it occurs to her he must be almost unbearably hard. Enough that he seems to be attempting rubbing against the bed in order to relieve it. Anne snorts, and draws back entirely.

“If you dare even try to get yourself off, you can stay trussed up until morning.” She pulls sharply on the end of the belt. “Maybe pleasure me a few more times during the night, whenever I fuckin' feel like it. I've got no problem with that, you know.”

“I don't expect you do.”

She presses his neck forward, and slaps his arse, hoping it goes straight to his cock. He makes a noise almost like a broken sob, face buried in the bedclothes. No doubt embarrassed by that, he manages to turn his head and answer,

“Fuck, allright, all _right_. I won't.”

She loves it, seeing him like this. Especially since he considers himself so smart, and sophisticated, and takes pains to present himself as such, but now all that has fallen away. She decides he can be kept trembling and desperate for a little longer, before she allows him any release. Anne gets up, and takes her time finding something suitable to make it easier on him when she does. Eventually she settles on shaking the candle out of its holder, sticks one finger in the cold tallow and smooths it along the others with her thumb. She crouches back down behind him, and brushes her slicked index finger between his ass cheeks, enjoying how he shivers.

“Anne, please.”

“No. Not till I say.”

He keens through his teeth. She starts to slowly circle his hole.

“Oh god, _please_.”

She finally lets him have it, working him open as carefully as she can, stroking his lower back at the same time. He jerks fitfully, and she's not going to reach around, but neither is she going to try and stop him any more. She lets him bear down on her, giving him everything he needs to get there, and only when she feels him tense pulls almost all the way out. Left on the edge, he garbles something she can't understand.

She saves her words for when they will have the greatest impact, thrusting up once again. “See, I can use you too.”

He groans, and she knows that's done it. He comes with a jolt against the bed, thoroughly wrecked, the belt the only thing still holding him up. She rakes the fingers of her other hand through his messy, sweaty hair, murmuring to him how hopeless he is. 

When she unties him from the bed, she'll have to try and get it into his head, she couldn't give a shit about the crew, or any higher purpose – she only does his dirty business exclusively for him.

**Author's Note:**

> Title: 'Hard Time' by Seinabo Sey.


End file.
